


You Reap What You Sow

by BloodiedRose



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, An outrageous amount of diner food, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Banter, Drug Use, Found Family, Gen, Grim Reapers, Inspired by Dead Like Me, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References To:, Someone Finally Helps Spencer Reid, Violence, bizarre deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodiedRose/pseuds/BloodiedRose
Summary: Elle Greenaway suddenly transfers to the D.C. department. She tries to keep her head down, but that's hard to do when she has to get used to a new city, adopts her traumatised coworker, and is being haunted by her own personal Graveling.A Dead Like Me au (but no knowledge of the show is required).
Relationships: Background Derek Morgan/Penelope Garcia, Elle Greenaway & Spencer Reid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	You Reap What You Sow

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born because I was complaining on tumblr about how there aren't enough CM/Dead Like Me crossovers, even though Mandy Patinkin's character in Dead Like Me is basically Hotch and Gideon's foulmouthed son. And then Gideon is barely in it. 
> 
> So there aren't any nasty surprises, for those who are unfamiliar please be aware that a Dead Like Me trademark is a blase attitude towards bizarre deaths, which has carried over to this fic. This isn't quite a Black Comedy like the show, but elements are there. Dead Like Me also treats death like an office job and uses similar language, as well as keeping track of 'appointments' on post it notes. 
> 
> A full glossary of Dead Like Me mythology is in the endnotes.

_1946_

_Elle Greenaway was a Brooklyn girl through and through. She smoked cigarettes behind the bins with her friends, and got drunk for the first time on bootleg whiskey in a jazz bar, the beads on her dress swinging with every movement of her hips. Her mamá wanted her to be a movie star, but she wanted to be a cop like her daddy._

_There were no female cops in the 1920s._

_So she got engaged to the boy two doors down and settled into a life of bored domesticity, with a simple job and a longing for a life she could never have but wasn’t fully capable of missing. That is until her fiance got his draft letter._

_Two months after he shipped out, she got a letter from his C.O. It was sympathetic, and hollow, and he spelt her fiance’s name wrong._

_A job at the laundrette wasn’t going to keep her and her mamá with a roof over their heads anymore, so she picked up the slack by taking a job as a secretary for a P.I. who spent more time boozing than solving cases. After one too many times watching clients slip through their fingers while he snored in his office, she decided she was going to get paid whether he helped or not. And if their company’s solve rate sky-rocketed once Elle took the reins, no one was in a position to complain._

_That is until a search for a missing girl turned into the girl’s father shooting Elle in the chest._

_\---_

The diner was quiet at four am, except for the bizarre music that was playing through the speakers. Elle spotted her table immediately-- she had heard enough to recognise the posture of a man whose soul still remembered what it felt like to be top dog, the suit and tie he apparently was never seen without, the tipped hat that reminded her of being a wayward teenage girl. 

And she had been sent a photo.

Elle walked over to the booth, one particular patron on her way getting skittish when he caught sight of the badge on her hip. She shot him a toothy grin, and the kid was out the door like a shot. Based on the way the kid had been moving, she guessed he was having a bad high. 

She reached her booth.

“Aaron Hotchner?” She asked. 

“Hotch, please,” he said, standing up to shake her hand. His appearance, his speech, his tone were all unbearably formal so the nickname surprised her. Probably a hold over from when his every pore didn’t exude disappointed and overworked dad.

Hotch gestured towards the bench in front of him and she slid into it. A waitress appeared beside her almost instantly with a menu, which Elle brushed off with a request for a cappuccino with cinnamon. 

“You should try the pancakes sometime,” Hotch said. “They use fresh buttermilk and spice the batter.”

“I’m sure I will get intimately acquainted with them before long,” Elle replied. In reality she had no intention of touching them until she knew she would be there for the long haul. She got enough cravings for things she could never have. 

Hotch pulled a binder towards him, with colour coded pages and neatly printed documents. She’d heard he used to be a lawyer, but it was different to actually see the discipline in something as simple as note-taking.

“In Seattle, we were lucky if our head even remembered we had post its in the first place,” Elle joked, though it was true. Max had got his last post it a couple of months before Elle applied for her transfer. Some people blamed his moving on for what happened, but she and Max were never that close.

Hotch huffed. She couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or disapproval. 

He pulled open the binder to an almost empty page, though it was lined to create neat boxes with names at the top of each. There was a single post it in the bottom right corner, underneath her name that had been written in pencil at the top of the box. Apparently she wasn’t worth ink yet.

Hotch removed the yellow post it from the page and handed it to Elle.

_P. Brooker. 132 Deacon Avenue. ETD 6:54 am._

Elle memorised it, then put it in her pocket. The waitress set down Elle’s coffee, which she thanked her for. She took a drink-- it was good, but a bit too hot.

“So, are you working a skeleton crew? I at least thought Gideon would be here.” It was late, but Elle was used to working the night shift, and her transfer in day job had taken a lot more work than her other activities.

“Most of our team are at home. Jason and some others are on a four car pileup.” Hotch tucked the binder into his briefcase and when it was safely tucked away he reached for his own coffee. It was still steaming, so it must have arrived just before she did. She could tell it was black. “That and I wanted to speak to you alone.”

Elle steeled herself, raising her chin and broadening her shoulders. She knew this was coming, that it would be coming no matter where she went, but Hotch had garnered himself quite a reputation.

Hotch took a drink before delicately sitting his cup back down. Making her stew. It was an old interrogation technique.

“We accepted your transfer on the condition that there never be a repeat of Seattle,” He said. “If we even suspect that you are falling into old habits, you will be reassigned immediately. And I’m sure you know that the assignments will hardly improve without a good recommendation from me. Understood?”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Elle said. “I’ll be on my best behaviour only.”

_So long as you are on yours,_ she didn’t say.

Hotch relaxed, and drank some more coffee.

“Do you have accommodation?” He asked.

Elle shook her head.

“Morgan’s got a 6:30 not too far from you,” Hotch continued. “I can get him to show you around; he knows which neighbourhoods are the best.” 

“Sure,” Elle replied. Her cappuccino was drinkable now, and she sighed as the coffee and spice slid over her taste buds. “Just make sure he’s on time.”

“Don’t worry,” Hotch said. A car drove by, blocking the light from the streetlamp outside. It made shadows fall over his face, making his features look gaunt and, well. Skeletal. “We’re always on time.”

\----

The thing Elle loved most about modern technology was how much hassle it took out of everything. For most of her second career, she’d had to get creative to get the name. One time in the early 50s she had given up and just stood in the middle of a park yelling the name until a portly guy in glasses and covered in sweat but wearing a nice suit bounded up to her asking if he knew her. 

Now she had facebook. And instagram. And a whole wealth of means to figure out not just what her girl looked like but whereabouts on her walk to work she would be for their appointment. Elle caught sight of Patty Brooker’s distinctive blue ponytail walking towards her and waited until just the right moment, before walking into the woman’s path.

“Oh!” Patty exclaimed.

Elle grabbed her, making sure to keep her from falling. 

“I’m so sorry!” Elle said. “I was so focused on where I was going, I didn’t see right in front of my nose.”

Patty laughed. At least she was having a good morning.

“That’s alright,” she said. “I had my head in the clouds, too.”

Elle brushed her hand across Patty’s shoulder, feeling the surge of power beneath her fingers.

“At least you weren’t hurt. Have a good day!” Elle said. 

Patty returned the sentiment, before carrying on her walk. She was humming beneath her breath. Unfortunately for her, someone a few storeys up had left their radio on the open windowsill, because it was a sunny morning. Elle grimaced as she caught sight of a graveling dancing across the ledge before kicking the radio off the windowsill. The radio hit Patty directly in the head, killing her instantly.

The street quickly became chaos of people screaming and running to help while also covering their own heads. Elle did not rush to help. Instead she stood apart from the crowd until a dazed Patty appeared beside her.

“My mom always did say I needed to be more aware of my surroundings,” she said quietly.

“Mine always said I needed to do the dishes more often,” Elle replied. “It still wouldn’t have kept me from being shot.”

“I don’t get it.” 

They were rolling Patty over. A fair chunk of her skull was missing. Patty winced and rubbed at her head. 

“Fate does what it wants, no matter how much you listen to your mother.” Elle put her arm around Patty. “Come on, let’s get you to your new home.”

Patty’s lights were the view of a sunset from a small apartment window. It looked cozy. She looked at Elle apprehensively, but Elle gave her the most comforting smile she could manage and tried to remember that she wasn’t jealous, not really. Patty walked into the lights and disappeared.

“That was an easy one,” a man said from beside her.

Elle turned around.

“Morgan?” She asked.

“Derek Morgan,” he confirmed. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in the pocket of his jeans, before scanning her up and down. “So you’re our new girl.”

“Elle Greenaway.” She held out her hand, and he shook it. “Hotch said you could help me find an apartment?”

“I own a couple of buildings.” 

They began to walk away from Patty’s body. An ambulance passed them, its sirens shrieking. Elle scoffed.

“I think I’d prefer not to pay a colleague for rent, if it’s all the same to you.”

Morgan chuckled. He was gorgeous and he definitely knew it. He was also, judging by the band on his finger, married, and either the marriage was new or he was still hung up enough that he was off the market.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I was going to take you to a place that I know is going for a steal.”

Elle smiled an apology.

“Lead on, Macduff.”

\---

_1973_

_Derek Morgan just wanted to keep people safe. He had grown up only feeling unsafe in some way, which was only made worse when his Dad died, and worse still when Carl Buford… He was always determined to make sure everyone he loved felt safe. So he became a cop._

_It wasn’t an easy task in 1973, and he had to prove himself to be twice as competent as the other officers to be treated even half as seriously. But he did, and his block became one of the safest in the city._

_He told his Mom that his career was the reason why he never settled down, because he didn’t know how to admit that he knew every woman he met was the wrong one. Almost like he was waiting for his Girl to come along. So he dated, and he worked, and he never fell in love but he made his Mom proud, and he made himself proud._

_When he caught the stray bullet to the chest, all he did was hope that the judge knew that it was an accident. A dumb kid who got his hands on a gun and didn’t realise how careful he needed to be with it._

_It figured that Derek was never happy with any of the women he dated._

_He was waiting for a literal angel._

\---

This time, the corner booth was packed. Elle snuck onto the end of the row, a small blonde woman shuffling over to accommodate her. Hotch looked up from a conversation he was having with a tall man who looked just young enough to make her very uncomfortable.

“Everyone,” Hotch said. The table instantly quietened. “This is Elle Greenaway. She’s transferred in from Seattle.”

“JJ,” the woman beside her said, holding out her hand. Elle shook it. The woman turned. “This is Derek--”

“Morgan, we’ve met.” Elle said. Morgan smiled at her. He’d managed to find her a gorgeous place a fair bit under her budget, so currently he was her favourite person on the planet.

“Well, then beside him is his wife Penelope--” the woman beside Morgan waved enthusiastically, her bracelets clinking together as she did. Elle guessed she was from either the 80s or 90s. “Emily Prentiss--” a woman in a pantsuit similar to Elle’s own reached across the table and shook her hand. “And Spencer Reid.” The skinny kid who had been talking to Hotch waved awkwardly.

“ _Doctor_ Reid,” a gruff voice said from beside her.

“And this is the esteemed Jason--”

“--Gideon.” Elle stood up to shake the man’s hand. “I look forward to working with you, sir.”

The man grunted, before sitting down at the proverbial head of the table. Elle blinked, but Morgan made a facial expression to suggest his behaviour happened all the time. 

Without a pause, Hotch began handing out post its. 

“Derek, 3:17 on Beekman. Garcia, Riggs Place, 5 O’clock. JJ and Emily, you have a 2:18 at Georgetown. Take Elle with you and show her around.” Hotch’s expression turned stern and he held the post it back, even though the skinny kid was reaching out for it. “This will go perfectly, do you understand?”

“Yes, Hotch,” the kid said petulantly.

“Gideon will be going with you,” Hotch said. 

The kid’s expression turned stormy.

“I can do my job,” he snapped.

“Recent evidence suggests otherwise,” Hotch replied, equally venomous.

“C’mon,” JJ muttered, nudging Elle out. Derek, Penelope, and Emily made equally hasty exits.

“Pretty boy’s really dug himself deep,” Morgan said once they were on the street.

“I hope Hotch doesn’t punish him too badly,” Penelope replied. “He knows Reid has trouble this time of year.”

“It’s worse than usual, though,” Emily said. “I hope he’s not…”

They all went silent again. 

“We should get some lunch,” JJ said to break the tension. “Georgetown is enough of a drive.”

“Sure,” Elle said. Everyone was shuffling about as if they’d just remembered she was there.

JJ and Emily said their goodbyes to Derek and Penelope, before walking to a shiny black SUV that Emily clearly owned. The interior, and exterior for that matter, was immaculate. Elle felt bad for sitting on it and rumbling the seat.

“Sorry about that,” JJ said from the front. “Reid’s a sweetheart, but he’s a bit of a wild child.”

“Please tell me he’s older than he looks,” Elle said.

“Oh, yeah,” JJ replied, but Emily snorted.

“Hardly. He was twenty-four.”

“Well, he looks sixteen,” JJ said. “So at least that’s something.”

It wasn’t that bad, considering. Their line of work enlisted people of all ages, though the kids tended to work pet deaths and not more violent cases. Toilet Seat Girl up north had only been eighteen when she died, and had an allegedly similar wild attitude. Elle often thought The Powers That Be ought to be more careful with their selection, but who was she to question… whoever the hell they worked for.

\---

_1952_

_Jennifer Jareau was the perfect American girl. Her hoop skirts were always perfectly tailored, her ponytail bouncy and curled. She aced all her classes, was captain of the high school soccer team, and her apple pie won the state fair five years in a row. She met Will LaMontagne Jr a couple years after college and married him. They had a picturesque house with a finely pruned garden, he had a steady, well-paying, and respectable job, and eventually they had two beautiful children._

_She was always an athletic woman, and went on a hike through the woods every morning while the kids were at school. It was an accident-- a loose tree branch fell and knocked her over, and she was dead before her body finished rolling down the hill. She begged Hotch to let her stay until they found her body, and he stayed with her. It took them four days to find her, and by the time they did she was unfit for an open casket funeral._

_Every birthday she left a flower on the doorstep. She wanted to leave something bigger, but Gideon had threatened her if she did, and Hotch had gently explained what would happen if she tried to keep contact with her family._

_Will never remarried, and after his death her children put their house on the market without a forwarding address._

\---

“I’m still afraid of the forest,” JJ said. “And Emily refuses to even go close to an airplane.”

They had found a small cafe to have lunch in, chic and comfortable. The food was alright, if not spectacular, and had gotten talking about the only topic any of them could really talk about. Elle wasn’t sure what made their trauma light, first meeting conversation, but it was the only thing they knew they had in common.

“Why did you transfer from Seattle?” Emily asked, clearly eager in a change in topic.

“I was looking for a change,” Elle said. 

JJ hummed, but Emily watched her suspiciously. 

Elle just took a bite of her sweet potato wrap.

\---

_1993_

_Penelope Garcia took to the 90s like a mermaid returning to the sea. There was something powerful in unraveling evil with a few keystrokes while body glitter dusted her cheeks. It was a power she didn’t get wearing her mother’s hand me downs and listening to men yabber on about their already defunct computer systems._

_Penelope was Necromancer in pastels._

_Unfortunately, even though she had always tried her hardest to be on good terms with the universe rather than the United States Government, she still ended up on the receiving end of a cosmic conscription. She had settled in one day, letting her mind drift to the gorgeous hunk of man she ran into in the hallway, and began to fix the frayed wiring that one of the other techs had used. Of course that meant when a guy next door lit a sneaky cigarette and set off the sprinklers, poor Penelope got the shock of her life._

_“Sorry Baby Girl,” the Adonis she had met in the hallway said while they stood over her body._

_“There are worse ways to go,” she sighed. “At least the electricity didn’t completely destroy my hair-do.”_

_\---_

“Ok, which date are we judging age on?” 

There was chatter coming from their booth. Usually it would be relaxing, but it was going to be uncomfortable for Elle until she knew everyone better. The conversation had always been lively in Seattle, as well, until it suddenly stopped. 

“Birth date, obviously,” Penelope said.

The kid, Reid, scoffed.

“Hi, can I get a blackcurrant tea?” Elle ordered, before sitting down at the booth. 

“I got here first,” Reid said, using a piece of pancake to soak up some left over chocolate syrup on his plate. “Just because I was young doesn’t change that.”

“She was still born first, kid,” Morgan said. 

Said kid looked at him with a stormy expression.

“I would be in my fifties by now,” he grumbled. 

There was no flippant comeback, and Elle instantly knew what was going on. She didn’t blame the guy-- her anniversary was always rough too. Eighty years and she still woke up on each one screaming and clutching her chest.

“I’ve got one near that bakery you like,” Penelope said, her tone gone from joking to soft and sincere. “Do you want me to get you a box of cupcakes?”

Reid just shrugged and continued to coat his pancake in syrup, seemingly not interested in actually eating it.

“Elle,” Hotch said from behind her. Elle all but jumped out of her skin. “I want you to come with me today.”

“Yes sir,” Elle replied.

Hotch continued through the post its, before stopping with Reid again.

“Gideon is going to meet you here,” Hotch said. “You’ve got one out of town and he wants to drive you.”

“Yes sir,” Reid mumbled, not raising his eyes from the plate. 

Hotch indicated for Elle to leave, following close behind her. The others stayed behind, and as she left she saw JJ try to rub Reid’s back. He flinched away from her touch, and she backed off.

“Are you sure everything’s ok?” Elle asked while Hotch walked them to his car.

“Some people deal with this time with more difficulty than most,” Hotch replied. 

“Yes, but there’s coping badly and then there’s having something bad to cope with.” Hotch was silent. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Miss Greenaway,” Hotch said, turning to face her, “I admire your work, and I don’t believe one mistake should tarnish a person’s reputation, especially when it is made under duress. But I also want to impart on you how important it is that you and Reid stay away from each other, at least right now. I will not lose two of you at once.”

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

\---

_1911_

_Aaron Hotchner did everything he wanted to do in life. He married his high school sweetheart, had a wonderful son, and became the youngest District Attorney in his State’s history. He wasn’t home as often as he would have liked, and he knew how much that upset Hayley, but that was the way of the world and he was powerless to change it._

_It still upset him to know he had missed his son’s first steps, and first words, even though he knew fathers weren’t supposed to care about these things. His purpose was to provide for his family, to keep them well sustained and to leave a strong legacy for his son to continue. But it didn’t stop his urge to quit his job and stay home all day, soaking up the affection he was forced to miss._

_His office was in an old building which was still switching to electric. All it took was a small gas leak, and half of the building went up. What Hotch didn’t understand, and still couldn’t understand, was why everyone else was quietly led away, and he was instead given a new job._

\---

The day with Hotch hadn’t been bad. He was a quiet man, but he could crack a joke or two and wasn’t beyond having a discussion about mundane or even profound topics. The pop had been clean but they’d ended up covered in blood anyway. On their drive back Elle had told him her theory on why they were all supposed to wear hooded cloaks.

“It makes for easy cleaning.”

He had laughed, which made her laugh, so even though she felt disgusting she managed to keep her spirits up.

At least until she got home and found a graveling in her kitchen.

“Some things never change, huh Lee?” She said, before attacking it with a broom. She managed a solid blow, which just made it angrier. “Stalking creep.”

She continued to hit him until she managed to at least get him outside the window and lock it behind him. He snarled and pulled faces at her, and she pulled one back at him before closing the blinds. She poured herself a stiff drink and settled into the sofa to watch tv.

\---

_1966_

_Emily Prentiss was destined for great things. Her parents were both in exalted positions of power, and it was expected that she would reach similar heights if not higher, something that they never let her forget. With all the pressure on her to become a diamond, she instead chose to explode, before doing her best to pretend Emily Prentiss never existed._

_The Cold War allowed Lauren to be born._

_She was the best agent the CIA had to offer, which offered her the prestige she had always secretly wanted while denying her mother bragging rights of any kind. It gave her the perfect compromise, even if it did mean that her mother changed her ammo from Emily’s professional life to her dating one. Well. Emily was an expert in keeping secrets._

_She spent so much of her life worrying about assassination attempts and catching a bullet that she never thought to worry about the airplane until it was already going down._

\---

“I was a hacktivist extraordinaire,” Penelope said. “We are natural enemies.”

She, Emily, and Elle were alone in the diner. It was too late-- or early, rather-- for any customers, and the staff had hidden to have a nap in the back.

“I wasn’t even in the CIA by the time you were running around,” Emily tried to say, but Penelope just shook her head.

“My point still stands. It’s wrong for me to even be seen with you.”

“I was your bridesmaid!”

Elle chased a slice of lemon around her mug with her cinnamon quill. Lee had been keeping her up all night, snarling outside of her bedroom. She knew she had made her bed and was now being forced to lie in it, and she could accept that, but it didn’t stop it from being damn annoying.

The conversation suddenly froze, Emily and Penelope looking at the door behind her. Emily’s face revealed nothing, but her eyes looked upset. Penelope just looked heartbroken. Elle turned around to see what they were looking at.

Reid stumbled in, wrapped in what was clearly a cardigan he preferred for comfort based on how worn it was, and his hair had not been brushed for days. He sat down gracelessly at their booth, picking at the sleeves of his jacket. Up close, Elle could see that his eyes were bloodshot and his pupils blown. She knew that look.

“Oh, baby genius,” Penelope sighed.

“I’ll call Gideon,” Emily said, sliding out of her seat and reaching for her phone.

Deciding to take the risk, Elle reached out and touched her fingertips against Reid’s wrist. He didn’t pull away from her, but the time it took for him to realise what was happening and turn towards her was unsettling.

“What do you need?” She asked.

His lip wobbled.

“I need it all to go away,” Reid said softly. God, he was so young.

“I’m genuinely sorry that I can’t do that,” Elle replied. “Is there anything you want?”

“A hug?” Reid asked in a small voice.

Elle immediately pulled him towards her, putting his head against her neck and wrapping her arms around his bony shoulders. He shook in her arms but she felt no tears on her shoulder. She rubbed her hands over his back, able to feel his shoulder blades and vertebrae through his shirt and cardigan.

After some time, Gideon arrived, and when he did he had the gaul to look disapproving. Elle didn’t want to hand Reid to him, but Emily had been in the team far longer than she had and hopefully knew what was best. 

When Reid didn’t turn up for the next week, Elle knew what to do.

\---

_1989_

_Spencer Reid was a child prodigy, already declared at four years old to be the next Einstein. He didn’t want to be the next Einstein. He wanted to learn, and listen to his Mom read him 14th century poetry, and he wanted to be a kid like everyone else._

_But he wasn’t like everyone else. He was reminded of that every day. Kids would beat him up on the playground, and the more years he was pushed ahead in school the more he was resented by them. He spent his high school years prebuscent and caring for his mother, and by the time his voice broke in college everyone else was already allowed to drink, drive, and were ready to get married. He was the same age as most of the students he was teaching, and at twenty-three already felt aimless and unfulfilled. Almost as if he knew his life was to be defined by what he could have been._

_Spencer Reid was meant to do great things._

_\---_

Reid was sitting on a park bench, watching the passing world. From everything Elle knew about him, she expected him to have a mountain of books beside him, or at least a kindle. Instead he was sitting alone, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, looking like he was about to fall asleep.

Elle sat beside him. He didn’t acknowledge her aside from a small shuffle in his seat. 

“I’m not going to pretend to know exactly what’s going on, but I can guess enough.” Elle sighed. “People like us always have a harder time.”

“People like us?” Reid asked, barely loud enough to be heard.

“People who were murdered.”

The park was loud, but it felt silent. Like the singing of the birds, the talking people, and the water from the fountain had somehow been dulled. All she could really hear was the sound of her and Reid’s breathing. Sometimes, in moments like this, she strained to see if she could hear their heartbeats.

“Do you know why I left Seattle?” Elle asked. Reid shook his head. “It was just after the anniversary of when a man broke into my home and shot me. And I got given a Reap for a woman who was my age, with my hair colour, and my eyes, whose boyfriend broke in to rape and kill her. So instead of letting it happen, and taking her with me…”

“You killed him,” Reid finished.

“We’re not alive. There’s no post it if we decide to kill someone. It makes bad things happen. And I’m going to be spending the rest of my existence making up for that. But I don’t regret it. I won’t even apologise for it. I don’t care if we’re doing the work of God, or fate, or whatever. There is no reason for someone to die that way.”

Silence again. And then Reid lifted his head up.

“There was a serial killer,” Reid said. “He was going around tearing people apart. A husband and wife, a woman, an older couple. I was…”

Reid buried his face in his knee and took a couple of deep breaths. 

“I wasn’t meant to be there. He was the groundskeeper at the college where I was teaching, and I recognised the watch he had taken from one of the victims. He tortured me for three days, beating me and drugging me and pressing a revolver to my head and pulling the trigger. Over and over again until I confessed, just so he would have a reason to kill me. He buried…” Reid’s voice cracked. “He buried me alive.”

Elle could feel tears building in her eyes, and hurriedly blinked them away.

“At the end I was so happy that it was at least over.” Reid laughed. “Except then I woke up and found out I’d won the cosmic lottery and got to be a Grim Reaper! And so every fucking year I end up here, trying to figure out why they couldn’t just let me move on.”

“What’s made this year worse?” Elle asked. 

Reid wiped his eyes, but he was crying too much for it to have a proper effect.

“Two days before… Before _that_ , I got a post it. Alistair Goodman is a twenty two year old college student who was being stalked by a serial killer. I sent an anonymous tip to the police, the guy got caught, and Alistair Goodman…”

“Missed his appointment,” Elle finished. Reid nodded, and she put her hand on top of his head. “Those gravelings are a bitch, aren’t they?”

Reid laughed. 

“They destroyed my bike,” he said like a disappointed kid.

“Lee keeps trying to chew through my window. And the others are the reason why I’m not allowed to drive.”

“One tried to drop a telephone pole on me.” Reid slowly began uncurling.

“They ate through my water pipes. I tried to have a shower and got thrown through a wall. I have no idea what to tell the super so now my flat just has a me-shaped hole.”

That broke him, causing Reid to collapse in a fit of giggles. It was infectious, and soon Elle began to laugh too. Sometimes it was nice to remember how absurd their lives -- and deaths -- were. 

They sat there giggling on the park bench. Elle did an exaggerated mime of what her wall now looked like, which made Reid laugh so hard he started wheezing. It was a light and happy sound, and it made Elle smile for the first time since she emptied a clip into Lee’s chest.

\----

_‘You die. Time pass. Everything change. Family no come anymore. Is pain, but you heal. You remember them here. Maybe one day you find new family. --Ghosts_

\---

“The ‘playing a game with Death’ motif is completely incompatible with how Reapers operate,” Reid said. “For one, Reapers don’t decide whether or not you die, they just govern your souls. It would be like trying to force the hand of the boss by holding up one employee’s phone line.”

“Okay, what about _Wings of Desire_?” Emily asked, a smirk on her face.

“That’s about angels, not the Grim Reaper,” Reid said. He frowned. “Didn’t we watch that together?”

“She’s messing with you, Reid,” Morgan laughed.

Reid pouted.

“He looks better,” Hotch said under his breath.

“He needed someone to help him,” Elle replied, trying not to sound too much like she was admonishing him. “Someone who understands what he’s going through.” She leaned in so she was all but speaking directly into Hotch’s ear. “Death Days are hard on everyone, and some have it worse. If you are so concerned about having a repeat of Seattle, then you need to support your team. What works for you is not going to work for everyone else.”

She half expected Hotch to start an argument, but instead he simply nodded his head.

“Understood.”

The waitress came around and immediately got a flurry of orders.

“Can I have the berry french toast and lemon tea?” JJ asked. 

“A mocha and poached egg on toast, please.” Emily tried to pass the menu back, but Penelope decided to tickle her under the armpit which made her drop it.

“A double cinnamon waffles with all the trimmings, love,” Penelope said through giggles, picking up the dropped menu as well as the one she and Derek were sharing.

“With two forks,” Morgan said, even though judging from the look he got from the waitress he didn’t need to.

“Ooh! S’mores pancakes!” Reid was all but bouncing in his seat. “And a latte with chocolate and hazelnut shots! And a snickerdoodle milkshake--”

“Please do not let him have that much sugar,” JJ implored.

“Kid, do you want to be bouncing off the walls all day?”

“He’ll have the pancakes and the coffee,” Hotch said. She nodded, even though Reid whined in response. Elle guessed it happened a lot. 

The waitress turned to her.

“What the hell,” Elle said. “I’ll get the pancakes.”

She saw the faintest smile on Hotch’s face, before he reached into his briefcase and began handing out post its. 

Emily groaned when she got hers, and JJ looked over her shoulder and winced. Penelope hummed and pocketed hers in her cleavage. 

“Nature’s pockets, for when your dresses don’t have any,” Penelope explained when she saw Elle looking.

Elle snorted.

“Elle, Reid, Morgan, you’re heading to the same place.”

“Can I drive?” Reid asked.

“Absolutely not,” Morgan replied.

“Can I?” Elle asked.

“Do not let either of them in charge of your vehicle,” Hotch ordered, and Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Just because I know you can’t get killed twice doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try.”

“It’s not that bad,” Elle said.

“Tell that to your wall,” Reid said cheerfully, and she smiled.

“Wait, what did you do to your wall? I pulled strings to get you that place!”

“The explosion was minor,” Elle said, which just made Morgan blanch. 

“That’s it, we’re stopping first at your place.”

“Maybe we should go afterwards,” Reid said. “You know, just in case Morgan has a heart attack.”

“I don’t have a heart-- how bad is it?!” Morgan asked. Beside him, Penelope was cackling into her fist.

Their food arrived while Morgan continued to grow more indignant. Elle began to over exaggerate the damage to frustrate him, which made everyone else at the table double over in laughter. By the time Gideon arrived, the table was chaos, everyone insisting that Elle try some of their food and creating clutter everywhere. He sat quietly beside Hotch and seemed to be grumbling about something.

“So Gideon’s Dad and Hotch’s Mom, right?” Elle said to JJ.

“Sometimes they switch,” JJ replied, giggling. 

Out the diner window, Elle saw a graveling running around. It turned and snarled at her, so she flipped it off. It scurried up the wall and out of sight, and a moment later the diner’s sign crashed into the pavement. Everyone jumped away from the sparks, before turning to look at either Reid or Elle.

With his fork, Gideon gestured angrily at the fizzing sign.

“This is what happens when you don’t do your damn job,” he said. “Now we’re going to have to find a new restaurant.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Gravelings are little gremlin type creatures who run around causing the accidents that get people killed. They can be created when a Reaper murders a human without a post it. They also chase around Reapers who cause people to miss their 'appointment' with death and cause havoc.
> 
> A person's 'lights' are their afterlife. They show a different scene for every person.
> 
> Reapers have two jobs-- to 'pop' the soul from a person about to die just before their death, done through physical touch, and then to guide them to their lights. They find out who is supposed to die by getting a yellow post it with persons surname, first initial, location of death, and estimated time of death. 
> 
> 'Toilet Seat Girl' refers to George Lass, the main character of Dead Like Me. She is killed by a toilet seat falling from a space station reentering the earth's atmosphere.
> 
> Comments are always welcome!


End file.
